Speechless
by aiami
Summary: I had always been the nerdy one: big glasses, bag full of books and an overstated passion for drawing.I used to look at the girls by afar never doing the first step; they did and then leave. Until I met her. She never made the first move. So, in the end, I did it. Simply I wasn't prepared to how that move would have changed my world; leaving me…speechless. OOC;AU;All Human
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer: I do not own twilight or its characters. I do own my ideas and since these people here are so completely OOC I own them. **

**No copyright infringement intended. **

Prologue

I used to watch her from afar.

There was something strange in her, something different.

She used to spend the days in silence; she never spoke to anyone.

She attended classes, took notes and smiled to the people who sometimes strolled by her and waved.

Still she never spoke.

To anyone.

I saw her sipping a hot beverage, one day, and was struck by the attention she was putting in blowing on it every time she drank one of those.

She put so much attention on such a common, normal, gesture that made me wanted to copy it, to do the same thing she did just to understand what she found so particular in it.

"I'll find the courage to ask her someday" I used to repeat myself.

Still, months passed until I effectively managed to do it.

- Do you wanna know why I suddenly clam up? Well…because every time you drink something hot you fall in a world of your own, it seems like you're somewhere else…your eyes blink and you isolate yourself from everything around you. Anything else exists but that beverage in that moment, for you; it's quite magical to see you when you do it, even if I still have to figure out why.-

I watched her reddening while she made up her reply.

_- It's the only time it looks like I can hear my own voice, Edward. The sound of my breath that bounces against the walls of the paper glass…something exits my mouth and really makes a sound I could listen to…it's dumb, I am stupid, I know. – _

I read carefully the reply she had written on the squared block notes and lifted my eyes to her beautiful face as soon as I finished.

If she looked embarrassed before, in that moment her beautiful round cheeks had coloured so much they seemed to burn.

I felt like a complete idiot to have done that question.

I didn't know what to do or what to say but that the stupid wasn't her…I was.

So I did the only thing that came into my mind.

I took the paper glass that hold my lemon tea, that I had previously placed on the desk in front of me, brought it to my lips and gently blew on it, mimicking her gestures.

I isolated myself from everything around me and listened to the sound of my breath smashing against the plastic walls.

- it's not dumb, I was right….it's magical, Bella. -

**Author's note: **  
**Hi there! **  
**as you may know my mother tongue is Italian but I've studied English for quite my whole life and particularly enjoy reading in this wonderful language. I write fanfiction in Italian but yesterday, when I was reading quite a lovely story in english, the idea of translating my works into English bumped into my mind so...here I am. I think I might start with the fanfiction I'm actually publishing in Italian on another site, so I won't get distracted, plus I particularly love it. My updates would likely be once per week (sundays maybe), exams permitting. Please let me know what you think about it, it's the first time I try something like this and I'd really appreciate your help. **  
**So...till next week (maybe sooner since the first chapter is already completed, but it may depends on your acceptance of us here)  
hugs **

**ami**


	2. Chapter 1 - background

Chapter 1

Some time before

October

- Ehi Ed! –

Generally, a greeting like this was accompanied by a soundly smack on my back that, inevitably, made me do some wrong lines on my paper.

And that time was not different.

I thank my idea to draw always in pencil and never with ink pens as, on the contrary, some suggested.

Pencil allowed me to change ideas continually or, as in that case, to repair the damages inflicted by someone of the campus Baseball team.

Like Mike Newton, for instance.

- Mike –

I replied without even turning around, recognising the heavy smack that hit me before.

- Ah Cullen, Cullen, always with your head in your sketches. I hope that, at least, you're finishing the design for my tattoo you had to do! –

Right.

My passion, my life, has always been drawing. Or doing sketches as they called it.

This, obviously, didn't make me popular nor with the girls neither with the boys who preferred to use me and my drawings as punching balls or dartboards, real and not.

The reason why the sportsmen's meanness, that had accompanied me since childhood, had considerably decreased had a specific name: Emmett McCarty, my sister's fiancée.

A big boy quite two meters tall, large shoulders and excessively big neck due to his trainings and weight lifting who had lost his mind over my sister Rosalie.

I was the cause of their first meeting and consequential approach.

The thing that had always distinct Emmett from the other sportsmen was his good heart. And the first time I met him was the prove of it.

We were both at high school, back then, Forks High School and I used to spend my days with mu head in my books or over my drawing albums, so concentrated on creating my own world that would be more right, more equal, and that allowed me to escape from everything.

Back then I still dedicated to the study, the copy, of the great artists. I used to spend every break second in the library and loan big books of the history of arts that no one never picked up; I used to read the descriptions of the several techniques of drawing, colouring, chiaroscuro…everything of that world enchanted me. My dad wanted me in the lacrosse team but, my eye glasses do not combine well with the heavy helmet.

I tried to please him, signing up for the try-outs but was discarded as soon as the ball hit and broke the left lens of my glasses, causing a long run of complaints and recriminations by my mum, Esme, that convinced my dad to never try again on insisting on sports, with me.

In the end, however, I quite compromised with it dedicating to the gym, that allowed to work quite lonely.

I was just leaving the gym, an afternoon, when I had another proof of how much the physical activity and my passion for drawing were not compatible. With my heavy gym bag on a shoulder and the books loaned from the library in my hands, I headed through the exit door but, trying to close my closet (and packing up even my sketch books) I ended up crashing against the usual group of lacrosse players that headed back from the game.

_- Watch out loser! – one of those said to me, while pushing me with his shoulder and making me hit the cold metal of the closets. _

_- Ugh! Gross! He's all sweated! – continued another one after a while, noting how my head were flattened on my forehead. _

_A series of laughing and nicknames exchanged by the team member later, I thought I got by easily that time and continued my slow strolling through the exit, moving a bit the shoulder I hit before to check it out a bit. _

_But I was wrong. Five minutes later I found myself laying on the gummy and sticky floor of hour school with all my drawing spread over it. _

_- Oh Oh, the loser here draws – _

_- James, have a look here! Flowers, strange things…OMG look here! There's even a dick! – said another one of them, looking through my drawings and crumpling them. _

_The thing really bothered me; I hated when people touched my things, but I hadn't the time to worry about it. _

_That one who I assumed was James, took the sketch pointed out by his teammate and, after completely crumpling it, turned by me with such a sadist grin. _

_- what do we have here? A faggott…well, well – he said while approaching me with the group that followed him as part of a pack. _

_The laughing of the cheerleader's group that stayed on the background stopped and muted into an hold breath as realizing, for the first time, that the things might end up badly. At least for me. _

_I was already waiting for the worst, by that point. _

_But that was the moment I met Emmett. _

_- James, just because you had more behind than what you have done, I don't think it's right to take advantages on those who are weaker than you. – _

_Already almost two meters tall, with strong muscles and hockey team by his side, Emmett succeeded in his intimidating action. The two teams faced themselves for a bit, forgetting about me in the middle, evaluating advantages and disadvantages of a brawl in the middle of the school corridor just before the start of the new championship. _

_At the end James turned his back but something on his face told me the thing would not have ended there. _

_Emmett waited a little bit more, then he stepped closer and helped me on my feet. _

_For the second time that evening, I eluded myself that everything was over but, just as Emmett was bended over packing up a drawing of mine that ended farer, a blond fury departed from the cheerleader group and stormed though us, took Emmett by his collar and pushed him against the closets, making me falling again on the floor. _

_- YOU! What the hell are you doing? – she shouted five centimetres away from Emmett's neck, since she couldn't reach his face. _

_- Ehi Blondie! What the hell are YOU doing? I just helped him! – Emmett replied defensively trying, by tightening his hands so much his knuckles became white, to remember he was in front of a woman and not of a some bloke he could hit easily. _

_She took hold of his uniform for another time and then, with a last push, let go of Emmett just to point him with her finger._

_- who asked you? He could manage this alone! – _

_- it didn't seem to me he was handling it well, truth be told – affirmed Emmett with that tone you use when you state something that should be clear to everyone. _

_- he would have managed in the end! – she shouted in reply. _

_Emmett quirked an eyebrow and then, slowly advancing in her direction so he could stand above her with his stature, pointed his finger against her, exactly as she did before with him. _

_- James called him faggot and sure as hell you know what blokes like James do to those like him, so say thanks and go back to your bimbos. – _

_- Edward is not gay! – she simply replied, awkwardly tightening her lips to try and calm her fury that was trying to explode in a moment or two. _

_- this is not my business – Emmett replied surely more calmly, as he was making fun of her. _

_She took a deep breath and then turn to me. _

_- tell him you're not gay, Edward. Are you? – she then asked me, who in the meantime had stand up and was looking my sister attacking with any fear someone twice her stature. _

_I didn't had time to reply because she turn again her attention to Emmett and stressed again the concept that my sexual tastes were nothing of his business and that, however, I would have managed the thing perfectly by myself without the help of no one " and surely not that of a all muscle no brain giant"._

_Obviously no. I wasn't gay. _

_Neither I am now. _

_Let be clear, I have nothing against them…simply, I am not it. _

_As I already said before, back in time I used to learn the various techniques, to reproduce other's masterpieces and, between the other things that I reproduce, anatomical parts; even the male one. _

_And, obviously, Rosalie's words that afternoon did not represent her thoughts about that giant, as she had called him. Especially because since then she had become quite inseparable from him. _

_From that day on, or even better from that period in my life, several years have passed. _

_My friendship with Emmett (and his relationship with my sister) had granted me even if not the popularity or the respect of the greatest part of our high school, a more relaxed life style, far away from the days when I had to stay careful whenever I turned a corner: both because I was one of Emmett's protégé and because he had taught me a little of self- defence and cheered me up about "gaining a little bit of muscle beside of brain", to say it as he would have. _

_Emmett became a sort of superhero for me. _

Talking about superheroes, I refuged into this world, that of comics and superheroes, studying the particulars of each characters, simple humans that were transformed into superheroes considering their own peculiar characteristics that render them extraordinary men and women even before than superheroes.

There started my project.

The one I still carry on today…

I started with the people I knew better, the ones I hang on everyday, having the possibility of studying both the physical characteristics and all those little details of their personalities that would have made them unique at my eyes.

The first one was, indeed, Emmett; a kind of the "Thing" from the Marvel, all muscly but with a big hearth and a smile always laid out on his face, always ready to battle and demonstrate his own strength.

Then come Rosalie, yeah just that psycho of my sister.

Rosalie's super heroine was a kind of support heroine; not that she didn't have her own strength…she had, you can bet she had it, but she was kind of sinuous, strong and really beautiful talking grasshopper; a kind of a super conscience. The same that made her step up in my defence, not just from the bullies, but also from Emmett and his overprotectiveness. From the moment those two subject so strong they could repel each other united in a single indivisible unit, she played her role at perfection; she was by his side and smoothed his impetuous and exuberant personality when needed and lo instigate, at the contrary, when she believed they were facing some kind of injustice.

In a way she completed him, as a hero and as a man.

Do not believe that they were all roses and kisses, conversely, the strength I talked about earlier, innate in my sister, came out always against Emmett with whom she continually battled, letting a strength, fiery and sometimes violence that no one expected from a blonde cheerleader.

But always against Emmett.

I haven't ever seen her getting angry in that way with someone else. Maybe because she was so fond of just a little number of people as she was of Emmett. Or maybe because she knew that just him was emotively and physically strong enough to handle her.

And that says a lot about her.

I started to transpose their characteristics on paper little by little until the moment two defined characters were created, with the uniform and all those things, coordinated cape included.

I had fun representing my own vision of life, of how things should have be done, inserting elements, places and faces of the little town I had lived for all my life.

It was a small town for us, humans in bones and flesh, but for my paper characters it was an enormous world to explore with all his shades and details.

One afternoon, I came back home from school and found my parents (super doc and cookinette as I defined them in my small world) sit on my bed. They hold dozens of papers that I later identified as my drawing tablets, my works that presented my world. Their faces were a program: they flew from astonished to happy in a millisecond and I was so scared to say anything.

Eventually, my bag fall on the floor by my feet, advising them of my presence.

My dad rose his eyes with an undecipherable expression to finally locked them in mine.

I'm not ashamed to admit, even now, that I was so fucking worried in that moment.

Super doc could have end my whole project with a few simple words and I stayed petrified waiting for his sentence.

- Edward, this is… -

he said then, leaving the phrase hanging on for so much time that I think, whenever I'd decide to draw that particular scene, it would be the last frame of a page or even a whole volume…those effect phrases that leave the reader hung while he curses the writer/artist for the extensive suspense.

- this is genial! –

my parents' will of participating in a way or another in a passion of mine, of being part of it and of helping me to make big things from it, led to the fact that my teen room was transformed into some kind of a super tech graphic studio in the round of days.

So, thanks to those instruments and their support, I started publishing my world online, under a penname.

I had already enough problems by myself without some muscly sportsman bouncing on me for how I drew him in my comics.

As my life progressed, so did those of my characters that moved with me and met other new people.

The big house of my childhood changed into the flat I shared with Emmett and Rose and the small high school of Forks into the unlimited lawns and pavilions of the university of Seattle, allowing me to add day by day something or someone new.

This, obviously, until I saw her.

When my eyes landed on that little figure sit alone in the last rows of the class, to say it in graphical terms, my page went blank, totally white with the exception of her colours.

My hand was blocked as my own breath, waiting for the beat of her lashes.

For the first time in my life I couldn't manage to draw the traits of someone at first sight.


	3. Chapter 2 - encounters

**Disclaimer: I do not own twilight or its characters. I do own my ideas and since these people here are so completely OOC I own them.**

**No copyright infringement intended.**

Chapter 2 – encounters

For the first time in my life I couldn't manage to draw someone at first sight.

I found myself incapable of drawing a line on paper as of looking at something else but each of her movements.

I spent the lessons of the following weeks trying to steal as much details of her as possible from afar,

She rarely arrived in class before the start of the lesson and when she did it, she took a seat, left her bag and books and left the class just to came back in just seconds before the professor came in.

She usually took the same seat; eleventh row fourth seat from the left and seemed to disappear during class. She wrote down notes with an extraordinary velocity, I deduced it by the fast way her right arm moved and with which she changed the pages of her block-notes.

She used to rise her head and gaze in attention whenever the professor showed some important slide or wrote something at the blackboard but she hided in total anonymity every time the same professor asked something to the class.

I couldn't figure out the reason of this behaviour but as an example of extreme shyness because, considering the amount of the notes she took it couldn't be 'cause she didn't know the answer.

Sometimes she arrived just in time and chose another seat, even if when it happened I saw her moving constantly on the seat, as she wasn't confortable in a seat that wasn't her.

Furthermore, her seat was usually vacant. Even if it was quite wanted from everyone because it allowed a good hiding place from the professor's eyes. Still, whenever the initial part of the row was occupied, she never asked no one to move to let her sit.

I, myself, had quite always the same seat. It was high enough to let me see the whole class and to hide, from the professor's gaze, my scrapbook that always made its presence by the side of my block-notes on my desk; but I was always surrounded by Emmett and the few of the sportsmen that attended that class so, some times, I had to change seat or row to let them sit.

All this made me realized that she must have been the most shy person in the world.

That, furthermore, made me realize that the chances of every kind of approach between us wore continually thinner.

She super shy, I super clumsy, we would had never be able to say one single word at each other. Even worse! We would had never face each other!

This realization completely tore me to pieces and I let out a soundly frustration sigh and, taken my pencil between my fingers, I let it guide me as possessed by its own will.

The lines appeared on the white paper as my hand moved on it.

At first they were just curved lines, anonymous, that slowly changed into something else.

First appeared her hair.

From the high of my privileged position in class, it was the part of her that I used to see more often.

Than appeared her back. The soft and slightly wavy hair that brushed and caressed her back until it disappeared, hidden by the line of the seats behind her.

So, I started doing the thing I could best.

I moved from the open stalkering phase, when I uninterruptedly stared at her, to drawing her.

Oh, yeah, my gaze continued to skim over her, every time during class, to try and catch every minimum detail of her. At least now it wasn't just because I was some kind of maniac but because I wanted to have my own version of the woman who have captured my attention so much.

After long days drawing her from behind, from my afar position, I started to became willing of something else. Of other details.

Some times I had been able to catch her profile, those rare times she turned and smiled at someone else.

God, I was so jealous of that smile.

I would have so much have it for me.

So I started to move seat by seat, always closer to her.

I took advantage of a time Mike Newton made me move from my seat to move a row lower and then, partly unconsciously, I moved lower day after day.

As the distance between our seats diminished, so the definition of the details became clearer.

I became able to catch as, quite every time someone turned its attention to her, her cheeks coloured of a bright red.

It lasted just few seconds on her round cheeks but really stood out over her pale skin.

She reminded me the Disney's Snow White for these characteristics.

Dark hair, red cheeks and skin as white as milk…or as lighted by the moon light.

This was one of the first completed images of her that I draw on my sketchbook.

A modern snow white with blue converse, a pair of jeans that wrapped around her perfect legs, a yellow sweater and a mobile phone in her had linked to twitter…like Snow white who talks to the birds, you know?

I used to look at the image of her that I had created and modelled it day by day on her, modifying the tracts to make it even more similar to the original one.

I used to catch those little details like the way she used to torture her sweater's sleeves to partly cover her hands, maybe cold, and I modified the drawing consequently.

I noted how she had almost always her shoes' laces undone, how this had often made her trip over her feet when she come and go from her seat, and my character started to do the same things.

The eyes, however, started to obsession me .

Even as I managed to see them several times and to catch their frame and colour, it wasn't enough for me.

I wanted to lose myself in those dark spots and see what hided over there.

I wanted to transpose what of her couldn't be seen at first glance.

Even if I wasn't sure that my way of staring at her could be defined "at first glance" anymore.

So I started to put even more attention in every time she turned her head in my direction, hoping that her gaze would cross mine.

I fought my shy and insecure temper that tended to make me low my head or move the gaze somewhere else to avoid being catch by her with my hand in the cookie jar.

Truth was I wanted to be catch.

I wanted her gaze on me.

Maybe, I wanted her to acknowledge my gaze that was quite always laid on her.

One day my mute prayers to the drawing divinity (my favourite one) were listened.

She looked at me.

She looked rally at me.

It wasn't the result of my crush or of my hyperactive imagination, we stared at each other for real.

But something wasn't right.

She wasn't smiling.

She didn't give me that smile that she used to give to those who sometimes talked to her or catch her attention. That warm, lovely expression that she had on her face when she interacted with the others, was long gone.

In fact, she seemed quite sad.

Her face was frozen, the eyes wide open and in alert.

I should have said something, I don't know maybe smile or flirt in some way. But I did nothing. I just stared at her from afar as the clumsy and in love nerd that I was, feeling speechless, slow and stupid.

Her gaze didn't softened, conversely, the sadness I could find in her eyes seemed to say to me "I know you stare at me, I have acknowledged it, but I'm sorry for you, you're not going to have anything back".

I started to feel that familiar warm sensation rise through my skin and I didn't want her to see me blush as a kid, so I averted my gaze on the desk and bend my head a little.

I was torn.

Part of me wanted to rise my head immediately and intersect her eyes again but, another part of me couldn't manage to do it and I started to pack my things with extreme care and to leave the class without turning back.

Sometimes, wishing too much for some things to happen, prepares you just to a great delusion.

I had wished so much to cross my gaze with hers that now I couldn't understand what had happened.

I kept on drawing those eyes, that expression, to try and figure them out.

Why did she have that sad eyes?

Could it be possible that realizing she was the object of my attention would had bothered her so much?

I would have gone crazy.

I was sure of it.

And it would have happened if it wasn't for Emmett.

I hadn't realized that I had covered the coffee table the three of us shared with papers and papers representing always the same thing, until the strong hand of Emmett rested on my wrist, blocking it.

- eyes eh? –

Emmett asked, one obtained my attention and going across the sparse papers.

- I am crazy, am I not? –

I questioned him without the owed preface. I knew he had noticed my non stopping sessions of "staring at the girl as a maniac". In several occasions he had hit me in the side with his elbow, when we saw her walking though the corridors or by the undefined fields of the campus. And he pushed me into talking to her. But I had always lowered my head and declined.

The experience of that day, then, made nothing but enlarge my fear of the first step, as I said to Emmett.

- it's predictable she would have reacted this way, Ed, you frightened her! –

Emmett theory implied that I had scared the girl, who had noticed me continuously staring at her and who didn't know how to react when found herself cross gave with mine.

I didn't believe so much in this theory.

I was more willing to validate one of my one that predicted something like the beautiful shy girl who sees a sociopathic nerd who spends the classes staring at her.

- You have to talk to her! –

affirmed Emmett after a bit.

As children when they don't want to do something, I found myself turning my head back and forth, left and right.

- Emm you know I'm no good at such things! I wouldn't know what to do…I would make fun of me! And for what? To just hear "leave me alone psycho"? –

- Ed, this is what friends are for! Come on! Let's practice! I'm your beautiful…wait, what's her name? –

I frozen still, both because the image of Emmett associated with the woman of my fantasies wasn't the best I could think of and because, in reality, I didn't know her name.

I've never heard no one call her name in class, introducing herself.

Emmett realized the reason behind my silence and shot me a glance between homicide and incredulous.

- let me get this straight, Ed, you do nothing but draw this girl and you don't even know her name? no way! You have to talk to her to at least know her name! let there be at least a good reason why you're neglecting your favourite superhero…that would be me, in case you didn't know! –

concluded with the usual Emmett way, lightening the atmosphere to avoid people feeling so upset.

- come on! I'm you mysterious beauty, come talk to me, Eddino! –

- don't call me that, Emm! –

I shot an answer. I hated that nickname only he and my sister still use, luckily.

- see? It wasn't so difficult talking to me –

he said making fun of me and laughing.

After an excruciating evening faking to approach a big man two metres tall, ended as soon as my sister entered the apartment, the morning after I made up my mind.

When I entered the class the professor was already there and I didn't have the possibility to actuate my plan, to make my move and I spent the whole class batting rhythmically my foot on the cold floor, incapable of staying seated quiet, of taking notes or, even, looking in her direction.

As soon as the professor ended the lesson I took a deep breath.

It was the right time.

I saw her rummaging with her belongings, ready to take of and "it's now or never" I said to myself.

I started walking, holding compulsively my pencil between my fingers; in my mind two thoughts alternated, two fixed points who mingled themselves and mixed mine words with those of Emmett.

Breath Edward, breath. Don't be an asshole.

First step.

Breath Edward, breath. Don't be an asshole.

The free fingers of my left hand, which laid across my side, closed around, quite smashing, the shoulder strap of my old bag.

Breath Edward, breath. Don't be an asshole.

Another step.

Breath Edward, breath. Don't be an ass…

I was just inches from her,

I started doubting I was breathing too loudly because I saw her back stiffening as she had perceived my presence.

In fact, slowly, like in slow motion, as in the best animation movies, she started to turn around.

Those tiny shoulders that I had so long observed from afar in every movement and angulation, were stiffened as she was afraid what, or who, was behind her back.

As soon as she completed turning around, her gaze crossed with mine again and I saw that expression once again.

It looked like that expression of the animation movies, when the good character knows that what he's going to say will hurt his loyal friend but say it nonetheless for "a greater good".

I know, I'm a bit cartoon maniac.

Maybe, making myself stronger with the parallel with the world I almost knew better than the real one, holding even more the pencil between my fingers, I managed to stretch a smile over my face.

- ehm…yeah…well…hi! –

I said at last while I felt the familiar shudder and consequently rush crawling up my nape, just to leave a little electricity wave at my hairline.

She widened her eyes and flashed me a small smile.

Just a small smile.

Non the serene and embarrassed one I saw her flash the other ones.

It was a tight, stiffened, quite a courtesy one, accompanied by that strange sad look.

A strange atmosphere fell between us.

I was able to see how being so close to me made her uncomfortable and, for as long the thing killed me, I decided to se that as my exit note to leave her alone.

So, with a nod of my head, I clutched even tighter my shoulder strap and run away from the class just to crash on the nearest wall.

- Edward…we need to talk. –

the way my sister approached me, so tensed and timed, left me perplexed and I turned through her doubtful.

What the hell wanted Rosalie to tell me?

What was so important that couldn't wait a minute longer, just the time I could regain myself after the great fiasco the approaching with my dreams and thought had been?

I nod through her anyway…

She took me by my arm and ushered me away, away from indiscrete ears and eyes. The thing ought to be serious.

So I looked closed to my sister, trying to figure out what was burdening her.

- Emmett told me about your obsession with the brunette –

the tone Rose talked about her, who in fact was my obsession, bothered me a bit. Not that I didn't expected Emmett to talk about it with Rosalie. I was sure he would have but, at this point, I started to doubt the terms he had used. I just managed to contain a smirk on my face when a sudden image crossed my mind; I should have modified Emmett and Rosalie's characters. His would have had a big, very big, pair of lips, to identify is big mouth that couldn't hold anything for himself; and hers would have gained an enormous pair of ears, or maybe a big nose, for her tendency to poke in everything.

While I was absorbed into my artistic deviations, as to not say mental ones, Rosalie started to talked again.

I realized I hadn't given her attention until I hear a lone shocking word.

I shook my head and stopped Rosalie with one hand up.

- Rose, what did you say? Repeat please… -

I asked her as if I hadn't clearly understood, a very probable thing since I wasn't listening.

I saw the embarrass made its way up my sister's face and the thing was already strange by itself.

- Edward…I said that the girl from before…the one you went talking to…well…I mean…you know she's mute, right? –

I knew she was…

No! obviously I didn't know it! And how the hell did Rosalie know it?

After the sudden shock passed, I started to see back every one of her single behaviour with this new revelation.

While reality made its way in me, I limited to shake my head.

- Crap! I imagined it…as soon I get home, Emmett would die an harsh death! I'm sorry, Edward, but I thought you should have known it before you made fool of yourself…I would have said it before if I knew about your intentions to talk to her today. –

Rosalie said with her half defeated tone. She wasn't just the great conscience, she had to have everything under her control, so that anything would ever hurt me…apart from her. But this wasn't one of her superpowers, it was simply the deviation derived by being the big sister, I believe.

I understood her frustration, in a way.

Seeing your little shy brother talk to a girl by his own will for the first time and discover he does it with someone who could have never replied back.

But I didn't care.

She was the woman of my dreams and my constant thought. She didn't speak…so? At least now I knew why, when I approached her and saluted her, she hadn't replied back. At least now I knew she hadn't done it because she found me repellent and hadn't wanted to tell me to go to hell. At least now I knew that, if she couldn't talk to me, I should have find a way to talk to her.

So I documented that day.

As the good old idiot I was, I came back home, went to the internet to search sites that would teach me the sign language or, at least, the fundament of it.

I learned to say "hi, sorry for yesterday, I'm Edward" and repeated that sequence till I passed out.

The morning after, as soon I dragged myself out of the bed, I repeated them once more now by memory, even before I wore my eye glasses.

When I was satisfied, I took them by my nightstand and started walking through the bathroom.

In the shower I kept on imagining the scene that would have presented before my eyes in a short time.

I hoped with all my heart that the girl that had so caught my attention, wasn't so pissed off with me.

I banged the head against the heavy material of the tiles many times for my own stupidity.

I had been satisfied simply watching her from afar for such a long time…why had I had to ruin it all now?

With a soundly bang of my fist against the wall, however, I rose my head against the water flow to clear my thoughts.

I could almost see me walking into the class, those five minute later to let her be already seated at her place, getting closer to her and repeating that sequence of signs that I dreamed of all night.

I imagined her smile grew wider and recognize my gestures, her stretching a hand to invite me to seat by her side and maybe some reply from her that I would have probably not understood.

With this hope I quickly dressed and, in a bat of an eyelash, I reached the class.

Just to discover that all I had dreamed of was just a fantasy.

The first part of it went as I imagined it: I arrived that she was already seated, I got close to her gulping down the drool as it was fast hardening concrete and I started to repeat once again the gestures in my mind.

When she recognized my presence I saw that gaze again but, this time, I was convinced I could turn it into a real smile or, maybe, into a surprised expression…an happy one.

So I rose my hands to the chest, without holding anything between my fingers this time, and repeated the sequence of signs.

I saw her eyes grew bigger, shocked.

I thought I had said the biggest profanity with my gestures at this reaction. Maybe I had sworn. Or maybe I had called her a slut. Or maybe I had said I was one. Panic tried to overflow me but I tried to combat it with a deep breath.

I closed my eyes and hold shut my eyelashes trying to bring my mind back into my mind the exact sequence I had repeated all night long.

It seemed I had done it right.

But, to try and remedy an eventual mistake, I rose my hands again, with palms open through her and, opening wide my eyes, I said hurriedly.

- wait, wait, I try again! I learned it by memory! Come on Edward it's not that hard! .

the last part of my speech was intended for myself only but now it had slipped from my lips and there was nothing I could do about it.

I started to move my hands quickly, repeating the sequence that wanted to say "hi, I'm sorry for yesterday, I'm Edward" and I looked at her hopefully.

As soon as my eyes crossed hers, it was stronger than me, I couldn't hold back a spontaneous smile on my face.

But, as it was already been proved, I always did the wrong thing when I was close to her.

I didn't know what it had been, whether my smile at the wrong time, or my words, or my initiative or what I said with the signs, all I know was that, with my face still lighted with the involuntary smile of before, I felt her long, tapered, fingers and the palm of her hand crushing with strength on my face.

She slapped me in the face.

She slapped me in the face and flew away from the class, leaving behind her a white notebook.

I stood still there for some time incapable of realizing what I had done to gain such a reaction.

*  
Authors' note:

Hi everyone!

Here we are with the second chapter! Some scenes of this chapter were already defined and ready but, as I think already happened to those of you readers/writers I got caught with the "following chapters curse" as I call it.

Every time I started to write, completed scenes of chapters long to come jumped into my mind and I had, then, to make flips and calculations to link everything with some kind of logic sense and following the "consecutio temporum". Please, tell me this happens to you too. I am not the only crazy one, am I?

Well, as you had understood this story should be all in EPOV and so, with this chapter we have found put something about him…and we met our Snow White…what do you think about her? Have you already some theories?

The delicate thematic of this stories I believe was clear from the beginning and it's a continue and constant challenge for me as author and as person. I warn you that I have done my researches to "scientifically" explain Bella's condition even if, obviously, not being a doctor I could have/had done some mistakes….please be good to me with this ;)

Well…this said…what do you think? Let me know something please!

Kisses

Ami

Ps. Do you like the cover? As you may have noticed I changed it and I'm quite proud of it;)

Pps: please, let me thank the wonderful people who have reviewed my story on TWC, you made my days brighter, I swear.


End file.
